VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER ELEVEN.
VENATORIAL.
It is early morning, and a party of mounted men, consisting of ourfriends of the previous day and their genial host, is riding along thehigh ground away from Jim Brathwaite's homestead. All carry guns,mostly of the latest and most improved pattern, though one or two stillhold to the old-fashioned muzzle-loader, and a pack of greatrough-haired dogs, the same which greeted our travellers with suchhostile demonstration last evening, careers around and among the party,now and then getting a paw or a tail under the horses' hoofs, andyelping and snapping in consequence. The horses step out briskly in thefresh morning air--for the sun is not yet up--which briskness will, Itrow, have undergone considerable abatement when they return at theclose of the proceedings, laden with a buck apiece--perchance two--andtheir riders to boot. And the dogs break out afresh into a mightyclamour, leaping and curvetting, and each striving to outbay his fellowas he realises more and more fully the important part which is to be hisin the coming destruction; and as the full-mouthed chorus rings overhill and valley, many a graceful spiral-horned antelope starts in hisdewy lair far down in the tangled brake, where yet a white curtain ofmist hangs, waiting till the rising beams shall disperse it into warmthand sunshine, and listens, it may be, apprehensively to the distantbaying.
"Here. Spry! Tiger! Shut up that infernal row, you brutes. A fellowcan't hear himself speak!" And loosening a strap from his saddle, Jimmakes a sudden cut with the buckle-end at one of the chief contributorsto the shindy, who, starting back hurriedly to avoid the infliction,unwarily places his tail beneath the descending hoof of Naylor's horse,and yells in frantic and heartrending fashion for the next five minutes.
"Noisy devils, they'll scare away all the bucks in the country-sidebefore we get near them," remarks that worthy, shading a match with hishand and lighting his pipe without reining in.
"They haven't had a hunt for some time now, you see. I've been away agood deal, and now they're letting off steam a bit," says Jim. "Hallo,Allen! Look out! If you dig your heels into that horse like that,he'll have you off as sure as his name's Waschbank."
For Allen, whose weedy nag had gone lame, is now bestriding a mountwhich his host has provided for him--a youthful quadruped, given tooccasional bucking. And at the time of the needed warning the playfulanimal is going along with his back stiffly and ominously arched.
"Then it'll be a case of Allen washing the bank with his tears--to saynothing of tears--for he is bound to _rend_ his `bags' if he falls amongthese stones," strikes in Armitage.
"Jack, Jack! I trust I may yet live to see you hanged," says Claverton."Jim, I put it to you as a man and a brother. Can any success possiblyattend the steps of a hunting-party in whose midst is the perpetrator ofso outrageous a sally?"
"Name isn't Sally," promptly replies the joker; "I was christened Jack,not John, mind--Jack; and Jack I'll live and die."
A laugh is evoked by this repartee, and they break into a canter, whileAllen's steed, the exuberance of whose spirits is in a measure let offin the increased exercise, ceases to cause his rider more than a dormantuneasiness. And now the sun is rising slowly and majestically over theeastern hills. Birds are twittering, and the dewy grass shines beneathand around. Then the great beams dart forth over the rolling plains,bathing them in first a red, then a golden light, and the firmament isblue above, and the earth glows in a warm rich effulgence, the glory ofa new-born summer day.
Seated under a bush are three persons evidently awaiting the approach ofour party. Their horses saddled, and with bridles trailing on theground, are cropping the short grass hard by. The conversation is beingcarried on in Dutch for the benefit of half the group, which owns tothat nationality, being in fact our portly friend, Isaac van Rooyen, andone of his sons. The other one is Thorman, a bearded, surly-lookingfellow, little given to conversation, but greatly addicted to the use ofstrong language when he does speak. He is a neighbour of JimBrathwaite's.
"Well, Jim," began Thorman, in response to the other's greeting. "Atlast! We've been waiting here a whole damned half-hour."
"Never mind, old fellow," laughed the other, "patience is a virtue, youknow--especially in these piping times."
"And you've had an opportunity of seeing a most splendid sunrise," addedthe incorrigible Jack.
"Sunrise be damned," growled Thorman, surlily.
"I thought we were to begin by sunrise, and now we've wasted half thedamned day. Better get to work at once," and he turned away to catchhis horse.
The others took no notice of his ill-humour, and chatted amongthemselves. Then with its fresh addition the party moved on a quarterof a mile or so lower down, where, in an open space in the bush, aboutthirty Kafirs--boys and men--were assembled. These were the beaters,and many of them were accompanied by their dogs--slim greyhounds,rough-haired lurchers, and curs of all shapes and sizes, and ofnondescript aspect. The natives stood up and saluted the new arrivals,and forthwith plans were laid for the operations.
"Now then, Jolwane," said Jim, addressing one of them, who, from his ageand standing, had constituted himself, or been constituted, head of hiscountrymen there assembled, "we'll sweep down this bush first,"indicating the long deep kloof which sloped away in front of them."Send half your fellows on the other side and I'll take my dogs and beatthis. We'll take it straight down."
"Ewa 'nkos," (yes, chief), replied the Kafir, and he straightway issueddirections to his followers, involving much discussion and voluminousexplanation.
"Now then--confound it all, are you fellows going to stand jawing allday?" said Jim, testily. "Off you go," and the Kafirs gathering uptheir kerries--a few of them carried assegais as well--moved off in twosand threes, still chattering volubly. "Jeffreys," he went on, "takeArthur where he'll get a shot; better go on to that open place yonder,that'll be exactly where I shall be driving down, and a buck always runsout there. Naylor, you put Allen up somewhere, better go the otherside. The rest of you can _voerlay_ [lie in wait] anywhere down in thebottom. Thorman, you know the place as well as I do, so can go whereyou like."
"Ik zal mit you ryd, ou kerel," (I shall ride with you, old fellow),said Isaac van Rooyen. "The younger ones want all the shots."
"All right, Oom Isaac," replied Jim. "Now then, look sharp and get toyour places, and we'll begin."
All move off as directed, making a detour to get well round the tract tobe driven, so as not to alarm the quarry; and at length, now cantering,now scrambling down some awfully steep and stony bit of ground, theyreach a tolerably open space about one thousand yards from where theystarted. Here they leave the horses, and, descending the steephillside, they separate. A cordon of shooters is thus formed across thevalley, each man ensconcing himself in some snug ambush, where he liesin wait with piece cocked and ready, silent and alert, waiting for thequarry to break cover.
And now the whole ravine echoes with loud and discordant voices, theyelling of the native curs in full cry mingles with the deeper bay ofthe larger dogs; and the shouts of the Kafirs and the crashing of theunderwood as they force their way through it, beating to right and toleft with their sticks, draw nearer and nearer. Bang! The report of agun in the thick of the scrub is answered by a terrific yell from thedogs, who rush to the spot. A buck has got up in front of Jim, who,with the Dutchman, is riding through the bush, hounding on his pack.The path here is fairly open, consequently the animal has not gone manyyards before it falls in a heap, for an unerring eye is behind thebarrels that covered it.
"Got him," says Jim, putting a fresh cartridge into his smoking barrel."Bring him on, some of you fellows, I must go on driving;" and theKafirs, beating the dogs off the fallen animal, perform in a trice thenecessary preliminaries, while a loud exultant whoop, from one to theother of them, tells that blood has been drawn.
"Look out, Allen," says Naylor, in a quick warning whisper, "there'ssomething coming out by you." They were about a dozen yards apart,Allen being of the two far the better
placed, as his range commanded alarge open space, a clear sixty yards beneath him, across whichsomething was almost sure to run, while Naylor's only covered a higherbit of ground where a snap shot was all he could hope for; but like agood-natured fellow he had placed the other in the better position.
Allen starts, rigidly grips his gun in his excitement, and eyes thebrake in front of him. The crashing of the underwood draws nearer andnearer, and a large bushbuck ram breaks cover. As it does so it catchessight of Naylor half hidden behind a tree, shears off at a tangent, andcomes charging down nearly on the top of Allen, whose heart is in hismouth, and he wildly bangs away with both barrels point-blank, as theanimal bounds past him within a yard, missing it clean. In a moment itwill have reached covert, the dread open safely crossed, when--Crack!the buck rolls over and over with three or four loopers from Naylor'sshot barrel fairly in his carcase. But "many a slip"--he recovershimself, leaps up and bounds away into the bush.
"He's hard hit," says his slayer, running to the spot; "it was a devilof a long shot, though. Look what a lot of blood he's dropped! We'llput the dogs on him directly. He's a gone coon, anyhow."
"I can't make out how I managed to miss him," is Allen's doleful remark.He is terribly mortified, poor fellow.
"You didn't get a fair shot at him. I thought he was going clean overyou. Never mind, you'll get a better chance soon," says good-naturedNaylor. He thought the other rather a muff, but was too good a fellowto say so.
Bang! Bang!
Who is in luck's way now? Bang, bang! again. A couple of bucks havedodged the ambushed shooters, and are making off along the high groundoutside the line, making for the adjacent kloof, and Armitage and theyounger Dutchman, who are nearest to them, are having rifle practice atlong range. Four hundred yards--then the sights are altered to five.Bang! bang! the animals still keep on, though the last shot has thrownup a cloud of dust perilously near the hinder one. Then the six hundredyards is reached. Another minute and they will be over the hill andsafe, at any rate for the present, when a ball from young Van Booyen'srifle strikes the hindermost, which halts in mid course with a springand a shudder, and rolls over, dead as a door-nail.
"Well done, Piet. By George, that was a good shot!" exclaimed theunsuccessful competitor.
"_Ja, kerel_," replied the Dutchman, with a complacent grin, as hefished out his tobacco-pouch.
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Claverton is standing where he and Jeffreys had been directed to. Hehas refused to avail himself of his privilege of guest and to take thebest place, so they have split the difference by standing near eachother. It is a fine open bit which promises two or three shots atleast, for whatever comes out on that side of the kloof is bound tobreak cover there. At last Jeffreys gets tired of waiting; he is ofopinion that everything has run across, and all the fun is on the otherside, so he makes for his horse and announces his intention of waitingup above for Jim. Claverton however, remains. He is standing under amimosa tree and is partly sheltered from view by a large stone, and hasa beautiful clear space for at least eighty yards on either side of him.
Haow!--ow--ow! The shouts of the Kafirs come nearer and nearer, and theloud-mouthed chorus of the dogs in one incessant clamour which is neversuffered to die, so quickly is it taken up by fresh throats, rings fromthe steep hillsides as the rout sweeps down the kloof. A gentlerustling approaches, and a graceful animal bounds into the open, and itsambushed foe can mark the glint of its soft eye and the shiny points ofits straight horns. It is a young bushbuck ram, and as it crosses theopen Claverton waits till it has just passed him and fires. It isscarcely twenty-five yards from him, yet it is unharmed, and disappearsin the opposite cover with a rush and a bound.
Claverton shakes his head and whistles softly. "_What_ a shot!" hesays. Then he looks up and catches sight of Will Jeffreys watching himwith a sneering smile upon his face, and the sight angers him for amoment.
"Look out--look out, Arthur," sounds Jim's voice close at hand."There's a buck coming out, right at you."
He starts, throws open the breech of his gun, but the cartridge jamshalf-way, and will neither come out nor go in again, and at that momentanother antelope breaks cover and crosses the open, if anything rathernearer than the first. It is a female and hornless, and its dappledskin gleams in the sun like gold as it bounds along. Immediatelyafterwards Jim emerges from the bush.
"How is it you didn't shoot?" he asks, wonderingly, reining in hishorse. "Why, the buck ran right over you."
"Look at that!" showing the state of the defaulting piece, in which thecartridge was yet jammed.
"Oh! What a nuisance! And didn't you get the first one?"
"No. Missed him clean. You see, Jim, you build all your bucks eighteeninches or so too short hereabouts."
Jim laughed. Jeffreys, who had also come up, did likewise, butsneeringly. "Well, you've had the two best shots of the day," said theformer.
"My dear fellow, I'm aware of the fact. Spare my blushes," answeredClaverton, nonchalantly.
And now dogs and beaters straggle out of the bash, the latter vehementlydiscussing the ins and outs of the recent undertaking. Kafirs areinveterate chatterboxes, and when a number of them get together theamount of promiscuous "jaw" that goes on is well-nigh incredible--andthe shooters assemble, preparatory to making a fresh start.
"How many came out?" says Jim. "Let's see--two went up above, one ofthem we got--two passed Claverton--one I got inside, and one went out byNaylor--six. Not bad for the first draw. How is it Naylor didn't gethis?"
"He did," said the voice of that maligned person at his elbow. "Justbring some of the dogs up--there's a blood spoor as wide as a footpath.It's a thundering big old ram, too."
They put the dogs on the track and followed as quickly as they could,for the bush was thick, but before they had gone far an awful clamourand a frenzied scream told that the quarry had been found. The bushbuckis the largest of the smaller antelopes, the male standing higher than alarge goat. When wounded and brought to bay he is apt to provedangerous, as his long, nearly straight horns, from twelve to fifteeninches in length, can inflict an ugly enough wound. This one wasstriking right and left with his horns as they came up, but beingweakened by loss of blood was soon pulled down, though not before he hadscored the sides of a couple of his canine foes with a nasty gash.
"By Jove, that is a fine fellow," said Jim, as he surveyed thebrown-grey hide with its white specks, and measured the long, pointedhorns. "Who hit him first?"
"I didn't hit him at all," said Allen, somewhat ruefully.
"Never mind. We've got him, anyhow. Let's get on again."
On the ridge, overlooking the next large kloof which is to be driven,Hicks joins them. He isn't best pleased, isn't Hicks, for the simplereason that he has seen nothing to empty his piece at, which to hisdestructive mind is a very real grievance indeed. It is quite likelythat, had he seen anything, the animal or animals in question would havepassed him unscathed, albeit rather startled by a double detonation; buthe has not had the chance, and meanwhile is dissatisfied, wherefore hemakes up his mind to strike out a line for himself. Again the bush isalive with the sinuous red forms of the Kafirs, and the dogs threadthrough the underwood, giving tongue and rushing hither and thither asthey strike upon a passing scent, and the shooters ride off to _voerlay_at their various posts, but Hicks quietly slips away from them all andmakes for a point far below, where the kloof merges into a number ofothers. It is a narrow defile, overhung with _krantzes_ on either side;forest trees twined with monkey creepers rise apace, and beneath theirshadow, in the gloom of the thick scrub, a tiny stream trickles along.Whatever leaves the kloof will pass this way, and our friend knows thathe is likely to get several shots in the ordinary course of things.
He conceals his horse, fastening him up among the bushes, then, withpiece all ready, he takes up his position in a cunning ambush, and waitsfor whatever may appear.
At present all is still as death, except wherethe whistle of a spreuw sounds from the overhanging cliffs; but thesunbeams are focussed into the hollow as through a burning-glass, andthe distant shouting of the beaters, and an occasional shot, now andagain breaks the silence. Nothing moves in grass or brake, and at lastHicks begins to wax impatient.
"Whew! how hot it is!" he exclaims, taking off his hat to wipe hisforehead. "They'll be a long while yet. I'll have a drink so long."
He finds out a place where the stream runs through a deep, limpid basin,and lying flat on the ground, takes a long and refreshing pull at thecool water. Then he rises, and something on the ground catches his eye.
"By Jove! Wild pig, I do believe;" and he examines the furrows and rutsin the grass, which has been rooted up by the tusks of something, andnot long ago either. "Wild pig or baboons? No, it's pig all right;there are two distinct spoors. If only I could get quietly among them."
By this time he has worked his way through the bush about a dozen yards,following up the spoors, and finding fresh "sign" at every step. "Ifonly I could get in among them," he repeats, bending over the traces.
His wish is gratified. A fierce grunt right at his elbow makes him lookup, startled by its unexpected proximity; and within six paces, half outof a bush, are the head and shoulders of a huge old boar, who, withevery hair of his dirty red-brown hide erect and bristling, and hiswicked little eyes scintillating, stands fearlessly confronting theintruder, while on each side of his hideous snout his great white tusksare champing and churning in an unpleasantly suggestive manner.
Hicks just has time to bring his gun to his shoulder; but the suddennessof the encounter has a trifle thrown him off his equilibrium, and as hedischarges his piece, point-blank, instead of rolling the animal over,the ball--for he has fired with his rifled barrel--merely scores itsflank, and with a scream of fury it comes at him. Dropping his gun heswings himself into the branches of a small tree under which he isstanding, as the ferocious brute rushes by, snapping viciously at emptyair, which within a fraction of a second ago was occupied by ourfriend's legs.
Hicks draws a long breath of relief. "Sold again, old _Baas_," he says,derisively, contemplating the infuriated boar, who is running backwardsand forwards beneath the tree, the blood flowing freely from his woundedflank. "Only stay there a little longer, and I'll use your tusks for ahat-peg yet."
The brute shows no signs of leaving him, for it charges the tree inwhich he has found refuge, ripping off great pieces of bark in its fury;and from his vantage ground, Hicks can see other wild swine making offin the distance through the bushes. And now the voices of men and dogsare drawing near--very near--and the old tusker, wise in time, throws uphis head, sniffs the air a moment, and makes off into the cover with adisappointed grunt, while Hicks shouts lustily for assistance.
"Here--Tiger--Punch--Erdwacht--Sah! Sah--in, boys--Sah--Sah!" he callsout, descending from his prison, as several of the larger dogs comerunning up. Then as they strike the scent of the wild pig, they rushoff on the spoor with full-throated chorus.
"What is it, Hicks?" sings out Jim, riding slowly through the bush.
"Pig--pig--He's hit, too!" replies Hicks, wild with excitement, as hedrags out his horse and springs into the saddle.
"Pig! Come along; we'll have him," says Jim, spurring up; and the twodash off in the wake of the dogs, whose clamour may be heard far ahead.The bush is thick, and here and there they meet with a check; but thornsand brambles are nothing when such quarry is in view, and Hicks hardlynotices a gash left in his ear by a specially wicked _wacht-am-bietje_spike as he is half dragged through the thicket by his horse.
"He's at bay, by Jove!" says Jim, as the clamour becomes stationary justin front of them. "Come on; here he is!" And in an open glade, in anangle formed by two bushes of bristling thorns, stood the boar, the dogsspringing and snapping around him, but none of them quite liking totackle him.
"Wait! I can get a good shot at him now," said Jim, dismounting."Better let _me_ do it; it's a ticklish shot, and you might hit one ofthe dogs. Besides, it's all the same; he's yours anyhow. You drewfirst blood."
The creature is hard pressed now, and the foam lies on him in flakes ashe chums with his tusks and snaps at his crowding, yelling foes. Crack!He sinks lifeless, the blood pouring from a hole in his forehead whereJim's bullet has found its mark; and then the dogs throw themselves onthe carcase, snarling and tearing in their excitement.
"Off, you brutes, off!" sings out Jim, coming up.
"Off! You're plucky enough when the pig's dead. Maarman--Spry--you_schelms_! What's come over you?" And dispersing them with a kick ortwo, he and Hicks proceed to inspect the quarry.
"I'll make something out of those tusks," says Hicks. "No, I won't,though; I'll keep the whole skull."
"It's devilish lucky you had that tree handy," says Jim. "He'd have cutyou to ribbons."
"Hullo! Where's the pig?" asks Armitage, who, with the others, appearon the scene; and the Kafirs, standing round the defunct animal, fireoff a volley of astonished "whaows," and Thorman is heard to muttersomething about "not having got a shot the whole damned morning, andthat the damned Britishers seem to get all the fun."
"By Jove! Those brutes of dogs have wallowed in all the water!"exclaimed Jim, in consternation, as the party arrived at their middayhalting-place. "Faugh! It's quite spoilt," he added, surveying thefluid in question, which at no time specially inviting to any but a verythirsty man, was now positively nauseous, as the tired animals hadrolled and splashed in it before any one had come up. "What will we do?Wait--there may be a little in the hole higher up; let's go and see.Ah! it's all right?" he called out, his exploration having provedsatisfactory. "Jolwane, keep the dogs away from this, whatever you do."
"That's fortunate," said Claverton. "On a day like this, brandy withoutwater is pretty much the same as mustard without beef."
They sat down to eat their lunch in true hunter fashion. Mightysandwiches, hastily rolled in a bit of newspaper, strips of _biltong_[Note 1], and hunks of cheese, began to make their appearance from thecapacious pockets of shooting-coats, while the contents of the springwere rendered more palatable by the addition of those of sundry flaskswhich passed from hand to hand.
It was a picturesque scene enough. The roughly-clad group lying andsitting about in various attitudes, their guns resting against a tree,and in rows upon the grass were the spoils, prominent among which wasthe huge carcase of the boar. Dogs lay panting in the shade, a few ofthem sitting on their haunches behind the hungry sportsmen, waiting forstray scraps which might be thrown them, and in the background squattedthe red forms of the Kafirs, whose deep voices kept up a continual humas they chattered among themselves and smoked their quaint, angularpipes, or devoured a mess of cold mealies, while their kerries andassegais lay on the ground beside them. Above, a great cliff towered inrugged masses; around stretched the evergreen bush.
"Have a _sopje_ (dram), Oom Isaac?" said Naylor, holding up a big flask,and filling out a substantial measure, as the Dutchman replied in theaffirmative.
"Ach! Det is alto lekker," (that's awfully good), said old Van Rooyen,drawing his sleeve across his mouth, and Naylor replenished the cup forthe benefit of the youthful Piet.
"So you got a buck after all, Arthur?" said Jim.
"Yes, just now--up there."
"He thinks the bucks here are all eighteen inches too short," struck inJeffreys, with half a sneer.
"That was only in the first kloof, Jeffreys. They're longer about here,you see," replied Claverton, filling his pipe. "Give us a light, Jack."
"Here you are, old Baas. One good turn deserves another, so just throwthat flask at me--thanks. Fancy Hicks treed by a pig--eh!"
"You shut up," called out that worthy. "Didn't I see you turn tail whenthat buck ran right over you?"
"No--you didn't--so help me Moses. But Hicks, you ought not to havemissed the pig at no yards."
The other retorted, and
so they went on, bandying chaff and fighting themorning's battles over again, till at length it became time to resumeoperations. Horses were caught and saddled, and the Kafirs callingtheir curs, started off to beat the bush again--but not with the samespirit as before, for the day was piping hot and the dogs were beginningto flag--some would hardly be induced to enter the bush at all, buttrotted along with lolling tongue, panting in the heat, and by the timethey had swept down a couple of bits of bush it became obvious that mostof the sport was already behind their backs.
"We'll just drive this kloof through and then knock off," said Jim."Now then, here's every one's last chance. Allen, you haven't got yourbuck yet."
They resumed the drive, and the slumbrous calm of the quiet valley wasbroken now and again by a ringing shot, and the blue smoke curled upthrough the golden haze in the still, summer afternoon; and every livingthing was routed out of its hitherto secure retreat before the advancingline of beaters, to run the gauntlet for its life, to fall before itsambushed foe, or haply to escape until some future field day.
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Note 1. Biltong is meat which has been dried in the sun till it isquite hard. It is usually made of venison or beef.
The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier Page 11